He was completely bloodied and scarred, on the edge of breaking, when Roxas came.
"Sora," he cried, latching onto his other as if protecting him from a crippling blizzard. Said boy was clad only in his lower garments, ripped and torn, and his torso naked and pale, as if he had already died. His eyes were glazed over like those of a marionette as he continued lurching forward, forward, forward. The world was a greying blindness--the blurs of the keyblade wielders' figures were the only tangible things in this realm. One might say it was cold, if there were anything to feel at all. In fact, numbness would still be too rich of a word to describe the feeling.
It was taking all of Roxas' will to hold him back, but if he were to hold him too hard, he might really break. "Sora, Sora," he continued, knowing none of his words were sounding amidst the blinding noise of the storm, but kept repeating his name in order to keep on himself on his heart.
